Posts Tagged ‘Italian’

I’m busy working on my “Postville” play these days (I’m on page 50). See “They’re Hijacking My Play.” So I’ve been neglecting writing new posts. In the meantime, here’s something you may find amusing. It’s based on something that really happened to me — in Madrid, not Milan, but I switched it to Italy because it’s more typical of Italy, and I can speak and write Italian.

You don’t need to speak Italian to enjoy it, but if you can’t stand not being able to understand every word, I’ve put a version with the English translation after the original.

Enjoy, Don

THE AMBASSADOR

(Simon gets in taxi at airport.)

SIMON:

Make sure you reset the meter. My friend Steve told me that every time he got into a taxi in Italy the driver tried to get him to pay for somebody else’s ride.

Would you keep your hands on the wheel for Chrissake? Can’t you Italians talk without waving your arms?

TAXISTA:

No. Non posso.

SIMON:

You Europeans are all alike. Everything costs an arm and a leg and nothing works. And from what I’ve seen so far, it looks like you Italians are the worst. You’re happy to take our money, but you don’t provide even the most basic services. Taxis are part of the tourist industry. Everybody in the tourist industry should speak English. (Silence for a moment, while they drive.) Hey, I saw that. What are you doing there?

TAXISTA:

Non faccio niente. Guido.

SIMON:

Guido, huh? Well I’m watching you, Guido.

TAXISTA:

Non è il mio nome, Guido. Guido la macchina.

SIMON:

Yeah, right. (Silence for a moment while they drive.) There, you did it again. I saw that. Every time you touch that button on the dashboard, the meter jumps five euros. You think that all of us Americans are like dumb chickens waiting to be plucked, don’t you. Well you chose the wrong one to mess with this time, Guido. Steve warned me about this scam, too. You know, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I want to go to the Grand Hotel.I think maybe I want to go to the police station. How’d you like that, Guido?Yes, let’s go to the police station.

TAXISTA: (Starting to look agitated and a bit frightened.)

No, signore. Non c’è bisogno di andare dalla polizia.

SIMON:

Not so smug now, are you, Guido. Yes, let’s go to the police station and tell them all about what you are doing to represent your city.

What? Oh, we’re here already? Well, OK. But I’m not going to pay you what’s on the meter. It says sixty-five, and I’m sure it shouldn’t be half of that. So, to teach you a lesson, I’m only going to give you twenty. And you should consider yourself lucky.

(Simon walks up to reception desk of hotel (played by same actor as Taxista.)

RECEPTIONIST:

Prego, signore.

SIMON:

(Simon does a double take, then …)

My name is Sempliss. Simon Sempliss. I have a reservation.

RECEPTIONIST:

Of course, Mr. Sempliss. One moment, please.

SIMON:

You know the taxi driver from the airport just tried to charge me sixty-five euros. But I knew he was trying to cheat me.

RECEPTIONIST:

Yes, sir, sixty-five is certainly far too much.

SIMON:

So I only gave him twenty. This is one Yank that managed not to get taken.

RECEPTIONIST:

Yes, sir. That’s very good sir.

SIMON:

How much should it be? Thirty? Thirty-five?

RECEPTIONIST: (Reluctantly.)

Well, actually, from the airport it’s usually about ten euros.

SIMON: (Simon looks shocked and upset.)

What???

RECEPTIONIST: (Trying to make him feel better.)

Sometimes twelve euros, if the traffic is bad. I’m afraid I can’t find your reservation. Do you have a confirmation number?

SIMON:

Of course. (Handing him a paper.) Here it is.

RECEPTIONIST:

Ah, I see the confusion. You see, there are two Grand Hotels in Milan.You’re reservation is at the Grand Hotel on Via De Gaspari in Certosa. This is the Grand Hotel on Viale Bonardi.

SIMON:

What???!!!

RECEPTIONIST:

Quite a few people make that mistake.

SIMON:

Two hotels with the same name? Isn’t that just typical? Well, how far is it to the other one?

RECEPTIONIST:

I’m afraid you came in the wrong direction from the airport. Via De Gaspari is about 45 minutes from here. Would you like me to get you a taxi?

SIMON:

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You call a taxi that you have a deal with, he charges me twice the going rate, and you get a kickback. No thank you. I’ll find a taxi on the street.

RECEPTIONIST:

As you wish, Mr. Sempliss. But you see, here in Italy, to save fuel, the taxis don’t drive around looking for passengers. They wait at taxi stops. The closest one is about a kilometer from here. Turn right out of the hotel, go to the second traffic light, turn left, cross the park, . . .

THE AMBASSADOR

[with translations from Italian to English]

(Simon gets in taxi at airport.)

SIMON:

Make sure you reset the meter. My friend Steve told me that every time he got into a taxi in Italy the driver tried to get him to pay for somebody else’s ride.

Would you keep your hands on the wheel for Chrissake? Can’t you Italians talk without waving your arms?

TAXISTA:

No. Non posso.

[No. I can’t.]

SIMON:

You Europeans are all alike. Everything costs an arm and a leg and nothing works. And from what I’ve seen so far, it looks like you Italians are the worst. You’re happy to take our money, but you don’t provide even the most basic services. Taxis are part of the tourist industry. Everybody in the tourist industry should speak English. (Silence for a moment, while they drive.)

SIMON: (Continued)

Hey, I saw that. What are you doing there?

TAXISTA:

Non faccio niente. Guido.

[I’m not doing anything. I’m driving.]

SIMON:

Guido, huh? Well I’m watching you, Guido.

TAXISTA:

Non è il mio nome, Guido. Guido la macchina.

[Guido isn’t my name. I’m driving the car.]

SIMON:

Yeah, right. (Silence for a moment while they drive.) There, you did it again. I saw that. Every time you touch that button on the dashboard, the meter jumps five euros. You think that all of us Americans are like dumb chickens waiting to be plucked, don’t you. Well you chose the wrong one to mess with this time, Guido. Steve warned me about this scam, too. You know, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I want to go to the Grand Hotel.I think maybe I want to go to the police station. How’d you like that, Guido?Yes, let’s go to the police station.

TAXISTA: (Starting to look agitated and a bit frightened.)

No, signore. Non c’è bisogno di andare dalla polizia.

[No sir. You don’t have to go to the police.]

SIMON:

Not so smug now, are you, Guido. Yes, let’s go to the police station and tell them all about what you are doing to represent your city.

[Don’t do it sir. I have a wife and two small children. And my sick mother lives with us. Look. We’re already at the hotel. Please sir.]

SIMON:

What? Oh, we’re here already? Well, OK. But I’m not going to pay you what’s on the meter. It says sixty-five, and I’m sure it shouldn’t be half of that. So, to teach you a lesson, I’m only going to give you twenty. And you should consider yourself lucky.

You know the taxi driver from the airport just tried to charge me sixty-five euros. But I knew he was trying to cheat me.

RECEPTIONIST:

Yes, sir, sixty-five is certainly far too much.

SIMON:

So I only gave him twenty. This is one Yank that managed not to get taken.

RECEPTIONIST:

Yes, sir. That’s very good sir.

SIMON:

How much should it be? Thirty? Thirty-five?

RECEPTIONIST: (Reluctantly.)

Well, actually, from the airport it’s usually about twelve euros.

SIMON: (Simon looks shocked and upset.)

What???

RECEPTIONIST: (Trying to make him feel better.)

Sometimes fourteen euros, if the traffic is bad. I’m afraid I can’t find your reservation. Do you have a confirmation number?

SIMON:

Of course. (Handing him a paper.) Here it is.

RECEPTIONIST:

Ah, I see the confusion. You see, there are two Grand Hotels in Milan.You’re reservation is at the Grand Hotel on Via De Gaspari in Certosa. This is the Grand Hotel on Viale Bonardi.

SIMON:

What???!!!

RECEPTIONIST:

Quite a few people make that mistake.

SIMON:

Two hotels with the same name? Isn’t that just typical? Well, how far is it to the other one?

RECEPTIONIST:

I’m afraid you came in the wrong direction from the airport. Via De Gaspari is about 45 minutes from here. Would you like me to get you a taxi?

SIMON:

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You call a taxi that you have a deal with, he charges me twice the going rate, and you get a kickback. No thank you. I’ll find a taxi on the street.

RECEPTIONIST:

As you wish, Mr. Sempliss. But you see, here in Italy, to save fuel, the taxis don’t drive around looking for passengers. They wait at taxi stops. The closest one is about a kilometer from here. Turn right out of the hotel, go to the second traffic light, turn left, cross the park, . . .

A couple of days ago I went out to take a walk and turned on my Walkman. It was already tuned to my favorite classical music station, and I found myself in the middle of an epic choral piece.

It’s often tough to distinguish the lyrics of works like that; lots of them are in Latin, and the rest are in 16th Century French, Italian or German. But there was no problem understanding the lyrics of this piece. And even if there had been, the choir was repeating the same words over and over again.

“Unto us a Chinese wall. Unto us a Chinese wall. Chinese Wall, Chinese Wall, Chinese Wall. Unto us a Chinese wall . . . .” You get the idea.

The music was wonderful, and the 200 plus singers were clearly excited about the Chinese wall. But I couldn’t help thinking I was missing something.

After about 5 minutes there was what was a transition in the music. “Aha!” I said to myself. “Now I’m going to get the next part of the story. That’s bound to clear things up.

“And his name shall be called Juan DeVille.”

What??!!

“Juan De Ville, Juan De Ville, Juan De Ville. And his name shall be called Juan De Ville.”

On they went, singing the praises of Juan De Ville for several more minutes, before going back to the Chinese Wall. “Well, that explains everything,” I thought. “The Chinese wall is anthropomorphic. and it has a Spanish/French name. And it must be one hell of a wall to inspire a musical tour de force (tour de farce?) of that magnitude.”

I listened enthralled for 20 minutes more until the piece ended. You know how some songs get into your head and you can’t get them out? That was certainly the case with the wall and old Juan.

I have a fairly good baritone voice and sing in a community choir, so when a song comes into my head, I go ahead and belt it out. Day or night, wherever I am I just let it go.

“Unto us a Chinese wall, Chinese wall (etc.), and his name shall be called Juan DeVille.”

I could tell that people were awed with the song and my rendition of it, because they’d look shocked. Then they’d smile nervously and back away.

Finally I decided I had to buy the piece. So I went to my local music store, where they know me well, and told the clerk that I wanted the choral piece about the Chinese wall.

“The what?”

“The Chinese wall. You know, the one who’s name shall be called Juan DeVille.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything like that.”

“Come on, a piece like that has got to be a classic.”

And I sang him the first few bars of each section of the music.

He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “That’s Handel’s Messiah,” he said. “But you’ve got the lyrics a bit wrong. Actually it’s ‘Unto us a child is born. And his name shall be called Wonderful.’ ”

“Oh,” I said.

“Hey, Melanie,” he called to his colleague on the other side of the store. “Listen to what this guy just said!”

I slunk out without buying the CD, and haven’t been back yet. Let’s see, those two sales clerks are about 25 years old. I wonder how long it will be before they retire.